"Honey, I'm home!"

Yato kicked the door inward with more force than was entirely necessary and stumbled inside, burdened under the weight of four pizza boxes. Yukine appeared, scowling, at the end of the hallway. He eyed the boxes with distaste, not offering any help as Yato struggled to close the door behind himself.

"First off," Yukine said, "I would really like it if you stopped saying that every single time you came in. And second…pizza? Again?"

Yato snorted, edging his way into the tiny kitchen to drop the boxes with a thud on top of a pile of notebooks. Kazuma, who was deeply engaged in his textbook at the same table, barely looked up in acknowledgement.

"You should be grateful!" Yato complained, opening the top box. "At least these aren't burnt."

Yukine approached the table to sniff inquisitively, while Yato passed into the equally tiny living room to dump his messenger bag next to the shabby couch, and then collapse without ceremony on top it. He kicked off his shoes and groaned in pleasure, his cramped toes finally freed from their confines. Eight hours was too long a long time to imprison ones feet, especially if the prison in question originally had been sized for his high school feet.

The living room's resident spider dangled peacefully from its web directly above his nose. From the kitchen, he heard the scratch and scribble of Kazuma's pencil on his yellow notepad as he took silent, exhaustive notes on the behavior of the atom. Yukine had ceased complaining, which Yato took to mean that his mouth was full. Outside the dingy window, a solitary bird had already begun its warbling evening song.

All was normal, and Yato shut his eyes in contentment.

Yukine wandered into the room, half a piece of pizza hanging from his mouth and another couple slices balanced in his hand.

"Want one?" he mumbled around the mouthful. Yato shook his head.

"Believe it or not, delivering those all day has conditioned me to associate pizza with work. So, no thanks."

Yukine echoed Yato's earlier snort. "Like that'll stop you from eating a whole pie by yourself. At three in the morning."

"I get hungry!" Yato said plaintively, stung by this unfair and accurate remark.

"Yeah." Yukine grimaced. "I know."

Yato sat up, the springs of the couch creaking under his inconsequential weight. Frowning, he shoved his feet into the small shoes again. His toes screamed their offense.

"I just came by to drop those off," he said, stretching his long arms. "And to say hi to Eloise." He waved at the spider. "Hi, Eloise!"

Yukine rolled his eyes. Kazuma strolled into the living room, having made the fastidious decision to eat his pizza off a paper plate.

"And, you are going…?" Kazuma allowed the question to hang in the air, unfinished.

"For your information, I am on my way to help a very nice older lady clean out her spice cabinet."

Yukine squinted. "Does she…know you are?"

Yato shrugged. "She most likely saw my picture on one of the flyers, and merely let her heart decide."

Kazuma shook his head, and Yukine snorted a laugh, this time in the middle of a bite. Yato got up and plucked his messenger bag from beside the couch. He whacked the wheezing Yukine soundly on the back, and he coughed up an olive.

"Enjoy the fruits of my hard labor," he called back, heading for the front door. "I expect a tip!"

The door fell shut behind Yato, cutting short Yukine's prolific and creative cursing. He hitched his messenger bag higher up on his shoulder and began walking toward the bus stop. The bag hit his leg with every step, a muted jangle coming from it with every thunk. The bottle of coins Yato constantly carried with him was less an indication of economic security than it was a symbol: a small reminder that all these tiny steps—from mowing lawns to organizing old ladies' spice cabinets—would hopefully lead him somewhere else. Somewhere bright, and secure, and maybe even wonderful.

It was a reminder that he was, just maybe, destined for something greater than pizza.

The door to the next house opened and shut, and Yato's feet froze mid-step.

This street was lined with modest buildings, most of them badly in need of paint. The house Yato stopped in front of, however, was the fresh white of a new eggshell, impeccably landscaped, and at least twice as large as any in the neighborhood. It was neighbor to the lodging he shared with Yukine and Kazuma, which in comparison looked, quite frankly, impoverished.

Yato had not shared many conversations with his next-door neighbors, but he knew more about them than he was comfortable admitting.

He knew there were three of them: all girls. He knew that the one with glasses played the piano. Badly. He knew that the light-haired one went twice a week to her club at the community theater. Once, he had overheard the piano-playing one arguing loudly with the theater one about the unsanitary effects of leaving her breakfast dishes lying around in the bathtub. He had felt guilty about hearing this, but not enough to shut his window.

The third girl—the one who had just walked out of the house, and was now heading straight toward him—was the only one whose name Yato remembered.

Her name was Hiyori Iki, and he was in love with her.

: : :

The first time Yato spoke to Hiyori Iki had been six months ago. He had finished his shift at the same time her bus dropped her off at the end of the street. It would seem that unadulterated chance had dictated their meeting. But Yato did not believe in chance. They had walked back to their respective houses together, and he had made an odd joke that she found far funnier than most people would have. She mentioned she was in school to become a doctor, and Yato had made all the properly impressed noises. He left her at the walk up to her door with a polite "Have a nice evening," and she smiled at him in a way that made his ears tingle.

The second time he spoke to Hiyori Iki was a week after their first conversation, and again at the end of his shift. The bus had just dropped her off at the end of the street. She waved at him and said: "It's Yato, isn't it?"

That was when he had fallen in love with her.

Yato didn't question the way he seemed to slip out of people's memory, like a tadpole through a fishing net. It had simply been built into the architecture of his life. His was not a memorable existence. There were a very small number of exceptions, such as Yukine and Kazuma. There was also his old friend Kofuku who—along with a terrifying grizzly bear of a man who called himself her boyfriend—ran a very modest, very pink convenience store a few blocks over.

And that was it.

Until suddenly, there was Hiyori. A full week had passed, and she had remembered his name. From that moment, Yato was finished. He was in love with her, miserably, hopelessly so, and there was no point trying to pretend otherwise.

And then the next week, his shift ended right on schedule. He arrived at that corner to meet the bus. But this time, there was no Hiyori. After a few agonized hours of making the worst kinds of assumptions, Yato realized that her semester schedule must have shifted. Her classes would be at different times. She would forget him.

After this, he made every attempt, short of actually stalking her, to memorize her schedule. He craved contact with her, and when none came, he frequently subjected his roommates to dramatic performances of his unrequited passion, most of which involved quarts of ice cream and a sickening amount of daytime television.

Yukine, in between elaborate eye rolls and snarky comments, was persuaded to help keep an eye on Hiyori's comings and goings. Despite their best efforts, her everyday whereabouts remained shrouded in mystery.

"Maybe you should move on?" Kazuma had once suggested, earning him a severe glare from Yukine and a look of deep betrayal from Yato.

"That's rich, coming from you," Yukine immediately pointed out, and Kazuma flinched.

"That's…different," he had said lamely. Yato was not paying attention, because Hiyori had, by some miracle, just left the house to collect the mail and he needed to focus all his attention on plastering his face to the windowpane.

: : :

Now Hiyori was here, walking toward Yato with blatant recognition. The smile that blossomed on her lips did awful things to his blood pressure.

"Hello!" she exclaimed. It was a genuine, delighted greeting. Yato conducted a frantic search for his tongue, only to find it lying limp and heavy at the bottom of his mouth, dry as the moon.

He swallowed viciously, but it was still a longer-than-polite pause before he managed to croak: "Hi."

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Hiyori asked. She walked right up to him, smiling relentlessly. If she knew the exact effects of that smile on his nervous system, she just might take pity.

"Yeah," Yato replied. He was hitting it out of the park.

Hiyori's eyebrows contracted in what could have been concern. Yato swallowed again, and bravely attempted a smile of his own.

"How are you?" he asked. Then, in a burst of inspiration: "Are—are your classes going well?"

Hiyori's smile sank into a rueful grimace. "They're going well enough, I suppose. Everything seems to speed up this time of year."

Yato nodded wisely, and Hiyori cast a glance toward his messenger bag.

"Off to work?" she asked.

"Sort of," he said, managing a shrug. "Not pizza, this time."

Hiyori cocked her head inquisitively, and Yato struggled to make himself think of anything except how cute it was, and how hot his neck was.

"Oh, really?" she asked curiously.

He nodded again. "I'm off to see a lady about some spices."

Hiyori laughed, easing the knot of nerves in his chest. Yato allowed himself a chuckle.

"Really, though," he said. "I am going to clean out a stranger's spice cabinet."

"A stranger who saw your flyer?" Hiyori asked, lowering her voice to a knowing, almost conspiratorial tone.

Yato's eyes widened, and he blushed up to the roots of his hair.

"Oh. You…saw those?"

"'No price too low, no task too steep'." She quoted his own catchphrase back at him. Her lip twitched. "You may want to rethink your slogan."

Yato lifted one eyebrow. "You have a better suggestion?"

Hiyori tapped her chin. "How about calling yourself something impressive? Like a…like a 'god of deliveries'." She made an abstract gesture with one hand, encompassing the fame and wealth this title would undoubtedly bring him.

"But I don't just do deliveries!" Yato said defensively.

She shrugged, then once again graced him with that heart-seizing grin. "I just think it's catchy."

Yato was helpless against her. "I'll consider it."

Hiyori didn't respond, but her eyes fell once again to his threadbare messenger bag.

"You must be very busy with all those clients," she said. Although she phrased it as a statement, the lift in her voice turned the final word into a question. Yato made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat.

"Shockingly, people tend to be wary of calling a stranger who posts flyers of his face all over the street to come do their chores for them."

"No way!" Hiyori shook her head pityingly, but the corners of her lips quivered with laughter. "That's so sad for them."

Yato was opening his mouth to say something—he didn't know what—but suddenly, the door to the house flew open, and another girl poked her head out. It was one of Hiyori's roommates: the one with the glasses.

"Jeez, Hiyori, did you get eaten by the mailbox or some…thing…" She trailed off to stare at Yato. He waved.

Hiyori had jumped at the interruption, then looked at the white mailbox as though she only just remembered it existed. She pulled the front open and reached inside, fumbling for the cluster of mail that was crammed all the way in the back.

Her roommate did not return inside the house, nor did she stop staring at Yato. He began to wonder if he should leave.

"Be back in a moment, Ami," Hiyori called, the front half of her body nearly inside the mailbox.

Yato took one step backward. He wanted to say "goodbye," or "good night," or maybe "here's my phone number," or possibly, "how do you feel about raising a family in the countryside, because I think we'd have beautiful children."

Instead he said this:

"Well—I have to go spice things up."

Hiyori didn't seem to hear him. She rummaged in the mailbox some more, which gave Yato a good ten seconds to ruthlessly browbeat himself for that comment.

When at last she withdrew herself from the mailbox, along with an armful of envelopes, she had a worried, distant look on her face. She turned one of them over to look at the back, and her shoulders drooped. She looked back up at him, and her eyes appeared to be focused on a point several feet behind his head. Yato found himself disoriented by her sudden detachment, and took another step backward.

"So." He swallowed. "I'll, um. I'll see you?"

Hiyori looked from him, back to the cream-colored envelope in her hand.

"Yes," she said absently. Her eyes never left the spider-script looping across the ivory paper.

Yato's stomach sank. He turned away and began walking. When he was ten steps away—

"Yato!"

Electricity bolted up his spine. He turned back.

Hiyori was waving at him from the porch, one hand tucked to her chest and clutching the mysterious envelope.

"Good luck!" she cried.

Yato grinned and saluted, then turned away. He heard the door of the house close behind her, but the warmth in his stomach wasn't leaving. His step had found its spring. Against his thigh, the bottle of coins sang with each stride. He moved with purpose. His destiny was not pizza.

And best of all, Hiyori Iki remembered his name.